Birds, bubbles and bombings

Scarborough Triathlon is something we've been involved with for quite a few years. The paddlers from Scarborough Canoe Club and SOC provide safety cover for the sea swim leg (or should it be flipper) of the event. As this is usually over by 11 o'clock, we either go surfing or, preferably, have a trip round Flamborough Head. The cliffs at this time of year are alive with all types of seabirds. This year was no different and, having dutifully helped at the Triathlon, eaten our complimentary bacon butty and donned this year's T shirt, Andy, Wendy and I ended up at North Landing car park. Wendy and I had another breakfast, mainly because we'd left the lunch at home. You do that sort of thing when you leave home at five in the morning. No one else arrived, so on with kit and carry the boats down to the beach. From the carpark, the sea looked fine, but closer inspection revealed a decent swell running, this was kicking up at the foot of the cliffs, making it too rough to get close in, and certainly ruling out marine caving. So after a few desultory attempts to safely get close to the cliffs, we gave up and settled for a foray into the only cave accessible from the little bay. This goes right through that part of the headland. The tide was falling, and by the time we got back to the boats, there were people walking past the cave entrance. Nevertheless we saw plenty of puffins and kittiwakes, some with chicks in the nest.

The following weekend we tried again for a trip round St Abbs Head, just north of Berwick. Last year's trip was a victim of high wind and rough sea. Another disgustingly early start for a meeting at half past ten. Strange yellow hot thing in the sky, sea flat, I must still be in bed, dreaming.

The little harbour at St Abbs was packed with divers, or there was a rubber fetishists' convention. Lots of wetsuits, boats zooming around, everyone taking advantage of the unseasonably summery weather. As soon as we crossed the first bay, the cliffs were packed with seabirds. There were kittiwakes with their nests perched in the most precarious places, guillemots and razorbills lined up along ledges like some many ornaments on a shelf, shags (or cormorants .. what IS the difference between a shag and a cormorant? - not the usual answer please). There were the inevitable predatory herring gulls, looking out for unguarded chicks or eggs. We were lucky enough to see a peregrine falcon patrolling the cliffs. There are a huge number of rocks, channels and gullies, and, with quite a few caves to explore as well, it took us two hours to paddle into Pettico Wick, a little bay just north of the headland. The trip back enabled us to poke into a few more nooks and crannies, taking another two hours. We chanced on a herring gull tucking into a freshly dead kittiwake, with a razorbill chick lying alongside presumably for dessert.

The only downside to all this is the sometimes overpowering smell generated by several thousand birds and their ancestors relieving themselves on the rocks. There were one or two very near misses - I didn't realise that birds of that size could hold so much. I wouldn't choose to swim in the water either.

All the day, divers were around, their position shown by the patches of bubbles on the surface. Every so often, several would surface to be picked up by their support boat. Back at the harbour, they were still throwing themselves at the sea by the dozen, lining up on the rocks and looking strangely like the guillemots and razorbills we'd seen earlier.

All in all, a good day, making up for the disappointment of Flamborough.

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	Swaledale Outdoor Club

Birds, bubbles and bombings

Pete Bridgstock